Between rounds, this fighter sits in the corner wearing the expression of a man who just remembered he left the stove on at home.
His trainer works on a cut while instructions arrive in a language his face suggests he no longer speaks. Corner breaks last sixty seconds, meant for breathing, water, and tactics. This fighter appears to be using the time for a brief mental holiday somewhere far quieter than the arena. The medical team worked fast. He sat with the calm of a man whose brain had gone to voicemail.
Sixty seconds is barely enough to slow a racing heart rate, let alone absorb tactics, which is why corners talk in short, loud cues. This fighter received approximately none of them. The bell would handle the wake-up call.
